On the Run
by Rex
Summary: Two men...accused of murder...on the run from the law...are they guilty or not? The Election sequel. An action/comedy.
1. Real Men

On the Run

Chapter 1: Real Men

It was a warm September day in a typical American subdivision in a typical town. A typical town filled with typical people. Its name was Shady Grove. The subdivision was called Golden Meadows.

Joe Young was a typical American bachelor. He drove into Golden Meadows and found his house three blocks down, 411 Sycamore Drive.

The town was almost perfect. You could imagine white picket fences between the houses. You could almost see neighbors talking to each other over the fences while one weeded the garden.

But with anything perfect, there must be a dark secret behind all this perfection. Everyone in the subdivision was a wizard or witch, or at least married to or a child of a wizard or witch.

Joe drove into the garage of this small, seemingly perfect house, next to the car of his brother, Kevin. Joe stepped out of the car and walked into his living room.

"Hey, Kev," he said as he took off his shoes and put them by the door. Kevin was watching ESPN. It was about 5:30. The day was Thursday, September 7, 2000.

"Hey," Kevin said as he turned the television off and got up off the couch. He was a year younger than the twenty-five year old Joe.

"I picked some dinner up," Joe said as he set a McDonald's bag on the kitchen table.

"Good," Kevin said. Kevin yawned and proceeded to the kitchen table. "You got drinks?"

"No."

"Why?"

"It's cheaper to get the food without the drinks," Joe answered.

"We're out of drinks," Kevin told Joe.

"Do we have water?" Joe asked.

"No more bottles. And I don't think you want to drink tap water, do you?" Joe recalled the recent environmental situation with the tap water in Shady Grove.

"No, not at all. I'll run down to the gas station and pick up some Cokes and some water. Cool?" Joe was already walking out the door before his brother responded.

"Okay." Joe did not hear his brother as he was already in his car, starting it up. He opened the garage and backed out. He was back in a few minutes, carrying two paper bags, one with a pack of water battles, the other with Cokes.

"I'm here," Joe said as he walked into the house. His brother was eating a chicken nugget.

"Thanks," Kevin said as he got up and helped his brother with the pack of Cokes. They then ate their dinner.

At approximately 9:07 PM, Kevin headed to bed. Joe went to bed at 10:03.

Joe woke up that morning at about 6:24. He rose up from his bed and noticed what appeared to be men in black suits walking in Kevin's room across the hall. Joe rubbed his eyes. The image came back into focus once more. It was the same thing. _I can't be seeing this._ Joe stepped into Kevin's room.

"What's going on?" he asked one of the sharply dressed men. The man was wearing silver sunglasses as well.

"Nothing, Joe. Name's Michael Bay. You see, I received a report from your neighbor a few hours ago. Seems she heard some screams coming from your house. We came over here at once," Michael said. Joe's heart sank. And that name...where did it come from? He knew he had heard it before.

"What happened to Kevin?" Joe asked. The man in the suit sighed and looked down. He swallowed and looked backed up.

"Your brother's dead. You're under arrest."

* * *

Nathan Talon lived in a small English town, much like Joe Young's, only British. He drove into his house, greeted by his wife, Leah. He kissed her and greeted his son Clark, age ten.

It was Friday, September 8, 2000. The time was 6:49 PM. Nathan could smell the sound of roast beef and potatoes, along with green beans.

"Thanks," he said. His wife smiled. He sat down and began to eat, discussing the latest football game with this son Clark.

Nathan lived in the Wizard District of London, England. He had been keeping tabs on the upcoming election, unlike Joe Young, whom he had never met.

They ate dinner, and Clark went off to do his homework. Nathan cleaned up the kitchen for his wife, who had a headache. His wife went on to bed. The time was 7:15 PM. Nathan was finished cleaning the kitchen at 7:30. He took a shower and read some of _The Daily Prophet_. He then discussed a Quidditch game with his son.

"Dad, Chuck Leon couldn't catch a Snitch if his life depended on it. He's old, and he stinks," Clark said.

"The championship game against Rome...he was great in that," Nathan said admiringly.

"They were lucky," said Clark. "Very lucky. It was a bad year for the Premier League anyway."

"Chuck was the MVP," Nathan pointed out.

"Another sign of the bad year," Clark countered. Nathan sighed loudly as he continued another futile fight with his son. They argued until nine o'clock about the strategies and games of their favorite teams. Clark wasn't that bad of a Quidditch player himself.

At nine, Clark went off to take a shower and hit the sack. Nathan took a long hot shower and went off to bed.

That night, Leah Talon had to use the bathroom. It was approximately 3:00 AM when Nathan's wife was killed walking back to his bedroom.

At 3:01 AM, Nathan's son Clark was murdered near the bathroom by magic.

The approximate time of death for Nathan's neighbor, Melvin Quincy, was 4:13 AM. He had been stabbed through the heart with a hunting knife.

Nathan Talon awoke at 5:56 AM. He yawned and stretched. The first thing he noticed was the group of men wearing black suits, and one was wearing silver sunglasses.

"Get out of my house," Nathan said while yawning again. The man pointed to Nathan's wife. Nathan gasped and began to cry.

"Do you know what happened, Nathan?" the man asked.

"Who are you?" Nathan asked.

"Just answer the question."

"She's dead," Nathan said.

"Yes, that's obvious," the man said in a monotone.

"Where's Clark?" Nathan asked, scared for his son's life.

"Nathan, you see...we have evidence..." the man in sunglasses began.

And then Nathan knew what these men were here to do.

* * *

A man known simply to prisoners as Charlie led Nathan through the holding chambers on September 10. He was scared. The rooms had an eerie lighting, but he did not know whether or not that was his imagination. There were few men in the holding cells, which surprised Nathan, who had always figured that there were lots of folks that would be in where he was.

Charlie was a large British man that Nathan would not want to mess with; Charlie was at least twice the size of him.

"Cell 122. This is yours." Charlie took out a key and opened the cell. He let Nathan in and slammed the door shut. Then Nathan saw Charlie crush the door key, eating the remains. _He's a giant._

Charlie walked back. He had another person to escort. That person's name was Joe Young.

* * *

Joe Young was thrown into his cell, and he saw Charlie eat the key. He was in Cell 123. The justice system was screwed up; he had to wait till early December for his trial to start. The cell had walls of steel. There was one lone bed, and it looked as if the mattress was made of plastic.

Joe landed on the bed. It was rather hard.

"Hey, you over there," said the man in the cell next to him. Joe looked around before identifying the voice. It was rather British.

"Oh, hi," he said in his American accent, which contained a hint of a Cajun accent. "Who're you?"

"Nathan Talon."

"Hi, I'm Joe Young," Joe said. "Yes, like the gorilla. My dad was a huge film buff." Joe sighed and stared at the floor for a second before looking back up at Nathan. "What're you here for?"

"I was framed for murder. My neighbor, my wife, my boy." Tears began to swell up in Nathan's eyes as he began to remember them. "Same here. Just it was my brother." Joe looked down. He was trying not to cry.

"It's alright, poor it out," Nathan said. "Real men..." His last word was drowned out by his sobbing.

But Joe couldn't cry. He tried and tried...but he couldn't. Did this make him less real? Less emotional? Uncaring? Joe hoped not.

* * *

Joe Young woke up, screaming in pain and agony. The entire hallway awoke, yelling and cursing.

"What's going on?" yelled Charlie in his low bass voice. "You stupid Americans are always doing something..."

"I gotta go peepee!" Joe whined. Charlie stared him in the eye. _He's not a criminal,_ Charlie thought. _A bad guy would know how to hold it._

"Come with me."

* * *

Joe stepped into the stall and locked it. He began to unzip his pants, ready to let it out.

And then the door was pulled back, producing a series of sounds Joe thought never would come from a bathroom stall door?

"Can you let me do my thing, man?" Joe asked. "I don't know how you take a leak in England, but we like to do it in privacy down home."

"You're a criminal. I watch you and your friends for a job. And I don't lie down on the job," Charlie replied. Joe couldn't help but wonder if his last name was "Angel."

"Charlie, are you, you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know...are you like that? One of those kinda guys?" Joe asked.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Charlie replied.

"Are you like that purple Teletubbie?!" Joe screamed, demanding an answer.

"I talk comprehensibly, thank you very much." Charlie apparently did not understand the question. _He's hiding something,_ Joe thought to himself.

Joe sighed to himself. He had to get out of here.

* * *

Time seemed to pass quickly in the holding cells. Nathan couldn't help but wonder if the rest of his life–likely to be spent in Azkaban–would pass as quickly as the past week had.

Charlie's loud footsteps echoed through the hall. Joe hid himself as far in the corner as possible.

"You," Charlie said, pointing at Nathan. "You have a visitor." _Who?_ Nathan thought, not asking aloud.

Charlie unlocked the door, which left Nathan wondering about the key the guard had swallowed his first day here. Either way, there was a key, it had unlocked the door, and Nathan was out.

However, his hands could not move. It was as if he were wearing invisible handcuffs.

Charlie's beefy hands grabbed Nathan around the arm, dragging him down the hallway. Nathan could only help but wonder who would want to see a man accused of murder.

* * *

"Nathan!" yelled the man sitting behind the anti-magic field. He was a balding man wearing a purple polo shirt, which seemed to accent his pot belly.

"Max, it's great to see ya'," Nathan replied calmly, taking a seat.

"Take as long as you wish," Charlie said aloud before leaving the room.

"This place gives me the creeps, man," Max stated, looking around. "It's so depressing."

"Try living here."

"Nah," Max replied, motioning his hand as if he were pushing something away.

"So what's the talk around town? Do people think I really killed three people?" Nathan asked quickly.

"Nathan Talon, no one thinks that you–even if you do support Merlin O'Brien–could possibly kill your neighbor, your kid, and your _loving_ wife. Heck, not even that old Mrs. Crumpet thinks you did it." Max was referring to the seemingly psychic witch who lived down the street from Nathan. They had known her all their lives.

"Good," Nathan said, wiping his brow. He sighed. "Look, there's not really any evidence. I mean, I wasn't having marriage problems–" Nathan saw Max raise an eyebrow–"okay, maybe I might have been; but it wasn't that bad. Why would I kill my neighbor? Why would I kill my own son? Why would I, Nathan Talon, take a life?"

"I dunno why you would take a life. Or three, for that matter. But the fact remains, someone thinks you did. And _when_ you get out of this place, you'll find him," Max said. "Or her," he added.

Charlie watched from the window, listening to the conversation. What were they planning?

Charlie stepped out of his room, grabbing Nathan by the arm. "I know what you're thinking about," he whispered to Nathan. "And you're not going to get it."

It appeared that Nathan's conversation had been cut short.

* * *

It was November. Joe sat in an interrogation room, staring at two men in sunglasses and black cloaks.

"Mister Young, were you having any problems with your brother?" asked the first man. Joe did not know their names, but these two men had been at his house that morning. They certainly appeared to be the men assigned to the investigation.

"No, not at all. I love my brother."

"I believe the verb should be in the past tense," said the second detective. "Your brother is dead. _You_ killed him."

"I still love my brother. I can love a dead guy, can't I? And what are you accusing me of? All I know is that–"

"IS THAT YOU KILLED HIM!" replied the detective, shaking his finger at Joe. "You know you did, you little kid." _If you are twenty-four and have supposedly committed a serious crime, you are apparently a mere child,_ Joe thought to himself.

"All I know is that I _DIDN'T KILL HIM!"_ Joe stood up and kicked his chair into the table.

"Hey!" shouted the first detective. "You can't leave like that! We're trying to help you here!"

"Help me do what?" Joe asked. "Help me rot in Azkaban for all eternity? That doesn't sound like much help to me."

"We're only doing our jobs," came the reply from the first detective. "We have to make a living, you know."

"Well, go ruin someone else's life. I'm innocent." And with that, Joe picked up his chair and threw it at the wall.

"You can't do that!" yelled both detectives at Joe.

"Watch me," Joe said. The last thing he saw was a flash of green light before collapsing, unconscious.

* * *

"Joe!" Nathan yelled to the cell next to him. It was the middle of a cold December night.

"Go Saints..." Joe murmured in his dream. "Get the ball...score...you can do it...come on..."

"Wake up, Joe!"

"What?" Joe said, jumping from his bed. "Where's the rabid Rams fan?"

"Joe, over here!" Nathan said, waving his arms. "Today's the big day," he said with a sigh.

"Oh my God...I've lost track of time...you mean?"

"Yes, Joe. We're going to get their excuse for a fair trial and go to Azkaban."

"Stop thinking so negative, Nathan. We're gonna be innocent, man. Don't worry."

"Joe, I've got my sheets tied to the bar on the window. If I'm guilty, I'm hanging myself."

"What?!" Joe asked. "Nathan, are you crazy?!" Joe kicked the bars separating him and Nathan. Nathan shrugged.

"Maybe."

* * *

Joe sat in his orange prison jumpsuit, his hands magically bonded. He was in the courtroom, staring at the fat judge on the stand. He didn't seem to want to give the mighty Joe Young a chance.

"Joe Young, you young Americans disgust me," he said in a slightly French, slightly English accent.

"You don't think anything of violence. All you do is kill people for fun. Your culture, your media promotes this.

"And you are just a victim of this. I can't help it. However, I hereby pronounce you _guilty_ of all charges. Life in Azkaban. Get out of my sight."

The gavel was pounded. Joe couldn't believe it. His "trial" had lasted about twenty minutes.

* * *

_So this is it,_ Nathan thought as he was escorted into the courtroom. He passed Joe, who was trying hard to cry–something Joe couldn't seem to do–and had apparently been sent to Azkaban. _They're gonna mock me for about twenty minutes and then tell me I'm a psychotic sick guy who killed three people._

Nathan was shoved into his seat by a guard he had never seen before. The old judge adjusted himself in his seat, looking over the docket.

"Order!" he said. "The trial of Nathan Ethan Talon will begin." The judge turned to face Nathan.

_Who is this guy?_ Nathan thought to himself.

He looked at the nameplate. "Keyser Soze," it read.

"You're a piece of trash, Mister Talon. You're supposed to be a loving neighbor, a loving husband, a long _father_. However, after looking at the evidence, it appears you are none of these things. You're a victim of society. I've seen your kind before. The loving person on the outside, but on the inside they're full of hatred. I know why you killed these three people, Nathan. You know why. We all know why, Nathan.

"How do you explain yourself, man?"

Nathan took a deep breath before beginning. "I didn't do it. I loved my wife, I loved my son, I liked my neighbor."

"That's the past tense!" the judge said, coming to his feet and pointing his gavel at Nathan. "You _loved them._ You _liked_ them."

"I believe you are leading me," Nathan said. "Like leading a witness."

"I believe you're guilty, Mister Talon."

And the mockery began.

* * *

The mockery continued for ten minutes. _It's like a witch-hunt,_ Nathan thought to himself. _They think what they want, and nothing's gonna change that._

"Mister Talon, you are no different than the man many years younger than you who I just saw. You both are liars. You both are idiots.

"You both are cold-blooded murderers.

"It is my _pleasure_ to announce to pronounce you guilty of all charges. Goodbye, Mister Talon; and I hope you have a pleasant time rotting in Azkaban."

Joe exhaled deeply and stood. He would take his punishment like a man.

He cried.

_Author's Note: Just to let you know, I've been meaning to do this for like, forever! Like since _Election_ forever! Yes, folks, as stated before, this is the sequel. Don't be scared, it works just as well standing alone._

_And as for the A/A genre, don't worry. This is merely setting up the characters and getting them where they need to get for the action to begin. There will be tons of action, tons of suspense, tons of my trademark stuff. (Even the sick jokes!) I started out in the A/A genre, and this is my return to it._

_And the Saints lost! Can you believe it? And the Titans! My dream Super Bowl lineup has been kicked out of the playoffs! Ahh....guess I won't be pulling for a team this year._

_Special thanks go out to Virgo, Madd Spammer, Draca, Slytherin Dragon, Chix, Colin, Ninamazing, and everyone who reads my stuff. (Even if you hated _I won't be Home for Christmas._) But anyway, thanks for reading! (And reviewing! ::grins::)_


	2. Burns Will Always Hurt You

On the Run

Chapter 2: Burns Will Always Hurt You

Nathan stared at the bars on the window. The sheets were hung there, ready for his neck to climb in. Ready for him to die while tied to them.

Joe looked across at the cell next to him.

"I'm sure we'll get out of Azkaban, Nathan. I mean, we know we're innocent. Honesty's the best policy, man."

"Not with Fudge in office. Or anyone like Fudge. Dingo, for instance. That's a retarded name! Duke Dingo, for Christ's sake! I mean, come on! Merlin O'Brien...he'd get me out...he'll reform the justice system," Nathan preached. "God..." Nathan threw his hand in his hands, small salt water tears sprinkling down his face.

"I don't care about politics. They've got nothing to do with me. But Nathan, don't hang yourself. I mean, you can get out of Azkaban. I'm sure you can. You've probably got something figured out, but you don't know it yet," Joe said. "Don't cry, dude. Take those dumb sheets down. Azkaban can't be that bad..."

"How long do we have?" Nathan asked. "How long do we have till we leave?"

"We leave the twenty-sixth. A week before the new millennium," Joe replied quickly.

* * *

Time passed too quickly for the two men as Christmas came. "We're getting the worst present of all," Nathan complained, "an all expenses paid, life-long vacation to Azkaban."

Charlie had greeted each man a pleasant holiday, with the exception of Nathan. "I know what you're thinking," he said. "And what you would get is the worst Christmas present of all. Even worse than where you're going."

Nathan then turned to the wall and sobbed to himself. _He's not that emotionally strong,_ Joe thought.

_Coward,_ Charlie thought. His hands hitting the jail bars, he strolled past the criminals, humming "We Three Kings."

Joe turned to Nathan. "Merry Christmas, man. I'd buy you something, but it doesn't look like I can."

"That's okay. I think I've got enough of a Christmas present as it is." Nathan was obviously referring to Azkaban.

Neither had any Christmas presents besides their vacation. _Guess when you kill a person, people stop loving you,_ Joe thought to himself.

Why he had to act so sadly upset him. However, he was not still in denial like his friend in the other cell. _I wonder if he'll ever get out of it..._Joe thought as he watched Nathan sob, telling himself that this had never happened...

* * *

The train for Azkaban came the next day. It was a gray one, and Joe was immediately reminded of a missile train from the Soviet Union. A hooded figure watched from the window of the front of the train. Joe's eyes met the other's eyes for a split second. Joe then turned his attention to the butt end of the train, which seemed to have jagged edges.

_It even looks like something that would house something like me, _he thought to himself. _Or rather, supposedly like me,_ he added to himself. _Because I'm innocent. Jesus, am I in denial?_

The train passed Joe, the wind rushing around him. The train stopped, the sound causing Joe to cover his ears. "Loud," he told himself aloud–he couldn't hear himself think.

Nathan watched from afar, staring at the train ready to take him to a fate worse than death. He did not see how any man, no matter how "tough" they may be, could be facing this like Joe.

* * *

"Mister Talon, please follow me," said the tall, buff man with a Scottish accent. His arm grabbed Nathan's left arm, forcing Nathan forward. Nathan obeyed the silent orders, moving forward.

"I don't really want to go to Azkaban, you know," Nathan said, stopping near the train. He could already feel their presence...

"You know what?" the Scot said, not waiting for an answer. "I don't really feel like making the train ride either. In fact, I'm glad I don't go off and kill people or whatever you did...you make me sick. I'm ashamed to wear my kilt because you people are giving us men such a bad name. You have no idea what real men are..."

_Huh? _Nathan asked himself. _My last time in the real world, and some guy is saying some junk about kilts..._

"Get on the train," the man said, shoving his elbow into Nathan's back.

"Yes, Sir." And Nathan began walking once more, reaching the train quicker than when he wanted to.

And he took the first step on the train, the first step to the rest of his life.

* * *

Joe, on the other hand, did not need any help getting on the train. He had accepted his punishment–well, at least he thought he had–and was really just thinking about nothing in particular, now that the Dementors were around.

The train was decorated darkly, in shades of gray and black. It was like the outside, just with cloth.

Large hooded figures roamed the corridors, not once staring down at Joe. He took his seat on the train, leaning his head against the wall. There was no window.

Joe tried not to think anything as the various Dementors passed by. But all he could see was horrible images.

_His brother, sprawled on the floor. The blood soaked in the gray carpet. His face...so full of surprise. His mouth was in an "O" shape. "Joe," it seemed to be saying._

"There's no need to see more of this," said the Sir. "Of course it's not too shocking to you."

Joe shuddered. His face in his hands, he being to breathe quicker. Joe kicked the seat in front of him as he rocked back. The train was accelerating. Joe hung his head in shame.

Even if he hadn't killed his brother, he certainly felt like he had.

* * *

Nathan was shaking. His hand shook, his mouth shook, his feet shook, his entire body shook as a group of Dementors passed.

_"Nathan's a loser!" said the boy on the playground. He made a face at Nathan, sticking his tongue out at him._

Nathan sat on the playground, alone. He was eight years old.

Nathan shook his head, trying to ignore the memories. _"B-b-b-be quiet!" Nathan yelled. "You're the loser!"_

The boy growled. No one_ told him that. Ever._

"Yeah? Well, prove it!" The bully's friends gathered around Nathan, pulling him up. They pushed him forward, their force much stronger than Nathan's, who was trying to stop them by dragging his feet.

Nathan sighed. It didn't work.

"Think you're so good, huh? Well, let's see." The boy raised his fists. "No magic."

The bully's fist were clenched, his face in a twisted smile. "You know I'm not really into violence," Nathan said, trying to run.

But it was too late. The boy's fist was launched, straight at Nathan's jaw.

It hit, and blood began to pour from Nathan's jaw. Nathan had it. He jumped on the bully, punching him in the face.

The bully kicked Nathan in the rear. Nathan fell over the bully, who jumped on Nathan and punched him in the face as well. Then the bully picked Nathan up and then shoved Nathan on the ground.

A teacher walked over, separating Nathan and the bully. "Nathan Talon!" she yelled. "How could you..."

"Nathan was calling me a loser, and he just started punching me! I wasn't trying to get in a fight, Mrs. Johnson! Really, I wasn't! But, by law, I have the right to defend myself; and I exercised my rights!"

"Yes, you did, son. Now, you two, come with me. I am going to call both your parents, and you can explain this to them. And you're going to explain this to the headmaster...

Nathan turned away from the aisle, staring at the walls. He tried not to think of more of this, but _they_ were there. The Dementors were here. It was a strange thing to think of, mindless creatures invading your mind.

But it was here. Nathan just decided not to think of anything at all. This would be a long trip.

* * *

The train stopped at the train station, which seemed to be abandoned. It was lit by torches, heightening the shadows against the wall. Joe scratched his chin as he was pushed forward by the human guards. They would be the last humans he would see for a long time.

The station was hot, humid. Droplets of moisture dripped down the walls; sweat and tears dripped down Nathan's face. He couldn't handle this.

Why did everything in his life seem to go wrong?

Nathan, however, continued on, taking this punishment. He would get out. He would get out of this horrible place. He _had_ to.

* * *

"Welcome to Azkaban," said the human guard to Joe, opening the door to a sunny day. It didn't seem to suit the occasion to Joe.

There was a dock to the left of them. Two boats were docked there. They were small boats, slightly larger than rowboats.

The water had taken its toll on them, the polish of the boats fading. Joe began to hum to himself as he stepped into the boat. _"I look at all the lonely people...I look at all the lonely people...Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice in a church where a wedding has been..."_ he sang.

_"Lives in a dream..."_ the guard said, joining in. And together they sang as the boats made their way to Azkaban.

* * *

Nathan stepped out of his boat, falling on the ground of the Azkaban island. Its ground was sand, and the prison itself seemed like a forgotten, gray castle. Whatever white had been there had been there before was not visible right now.

"Certainly looks like a place to lose your soul," Nathan said aloud. The human guards nodded.

The Dementors passed by. Once more, Nathan began to think of horrible, depressing things. So did Joe. _"Can't buy me love..." _Joe sang. _"Everybody tells me so..."_

He hummed the rest of the song as he was escorted forward toward the prison.

* * *

The prison was full of moans from the prisoners. They made noises from behind the bars, like caged animals. _I'm going to be one of those,_ Nathan thought to himself. _This isn't happening...but I'm gonna leave. I'll flee somewhere..._

_No way I'm gonna be one of these guys,_ Joe thought. _I'm escaping. God knows how, but I will._

"Welcome to the Worst Place on Earth," the human guard said. He closed the large iron double doors, and Azkaban suddenly became much darker.

"How are we supposed to see?" Joe asked. He felt oddly out of place in a place like this. He'd always considered himself a good man.

"I hate this place," Nathan said, stepping in a puddle of blood. Blood covered the walls. They continued forward, and Nathan noticed that there were two people in every cell.

They stopped at a full cell. Two dead bodies were sprawled on the floor, their blood on the walls and the floor.

"Welcome to your cell. Cell thirty-four."

The guard pulled a key ring out, and he opened the cell. He smiled, as if he was welcoming Nathan and Joe to a luxury hotel.

"I don't want to die in a cell of blood," Nathan said quickly. Joe couldn't take his bodies off the men on the floor. It appeared as if they had been in a fistfight.

"Oh yeah, well..." The guard pulled out his wand, and the blood disappeared. The prisoners began to levitate, flying out of the cell.

_Creepy,_ Joe thought. "Okay, we've got a clean cell to die in. That's good..." _I hope I was being sarcastic._

"Get in," said the guard.

"Are we gonna like, you know, get fed? I don't want to get starved. It's not like I can conjure up food with my wand either–someone snapped it," Joe said.

"You'll be fed three times a day. Whether you'll like the food, I dunno. But you will be fed," responded the guard. The doors closed, and the guard locked them. They were stuck.

For now.

* * *

The screaming grew louder. Joe tried to have a sense of humor about all this, but he couldn't. Life just sucked.

Amid all the screaming, Joe sat on his bed. It was a very small mattress and a thin blanket as well. Both appeared to be clean, as result of the cleaning charm.

A cool wind blew through the prison, and Nathan peeked out of the small window carved in the stone. The waters outside were a bright blue, the sun a bright yellow.

It did not seem right to be denied this sunny day on your first day in Azkaban.

"The world..." Nathan said aloud. "The world..."

"Does not want us, Nathan. I can't believe I'm in here." A fat eagle dived down to the water, and almost immediately it flew right back above. Its head seemed to be missing a few feathers.

The eagle flew toward Azkaban, eyeing Nathan. It then turned back away, heading for land.

Nathan sat down on his bed. He'd never been so bored in his life.

* * *

Joe stared at the cell next to him, not thinking of anything in particular. A half-naked man beat his head into the bars of the cell, yelling at someone named "Cornelius."

_"Cornelius, you did this! Cornelius! Cornelius! You–"_ And the man continued, cursing like a drunken sailor.

"I'll bet the Saints are in the playoffs," Joe said aloud. A Dementor walked past.

_Joe could see the walls of the funeral home. The casket was at the head of the room, in the center. The casket was open, and Joe could see himself walking forward to it._

He had been sitting in the back, in the last pew on the right. He was not too comfortable at funerals, though that was to be expected.

"Dad..." he said, staring down at the casket at his father's body. It was dressed in a tuxedo, something he had never believed his father would wear. He had been too informal of a man...

Dad should be wearing an Archie Manning jersey, a Saints hat, and a pair of jeans. He wore that more than anything,_ Joe thought, recalling the many Saints games his wizard father had taken him to. His father had grown up a Muggle, and he had introduced his two sons to the New Orleans Saints. _Dad loved football much more than Quidditch. So had I._ Joe stared down into the casket. He was only seventeen; he shouldn't be telling his father goodbye now._

He stared at his mother, crying in a pew off to the side. "Goodbye, Dad."

Joe shook his head, beginning to think that he was innocent over and over. _I'm staying sane,_ he told himself. _If it works for Sirius Black, it'll work for me._

* * *

Six days passed. Nathan had seen the fat eagle everyday, doing the same exact thing every hour.

_Weird,_ he had told himself.

Both men kept their emotions to a minimum. They rarely talked to each other, both understand that their sanity was on the line.

"It's coming," Nathan said that Sunday. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon.

"What? Oh, that eagle..." Joe said, being awakened from his staring contest with the wall.

"It's not doing the same thing it usually does..." This time, the eagle flew straight to the prison, following the human guard who fed the prisoners. _The Dementors are only here for fear and torture...and the Kiss,_ Nathan thought.

The guard had been sitting outside, as he did every afternoon. He came inside around this time, heading for the kitchen in order to prepare the meals.

The eagle followed the guard inside and landed. He did not seem to notice.

Then the eagle began to change. First it grew, resembling a six foot eagle. Then the face changed, beginning to take on a human shape. Then it was followed by the arms, the legs. All human. And finally came the middle part of the body.

The prisoners watched the man change into a man Nathan found very familiar.

It was all there...the pot belly...the thinning hair...

"Max," he said aloud. "Max!"

* * *

The guard turned, staring at Max, who was dressed in a thick insulated coat and matching pants.

"Um..." the guard said. "This has never happened before, so I don't really know what to say–and even if I did, I'm sure it would sound really corny."

"Most likely," Max said. "But allow me." He then kicked the guard in the stomach, sending the guard to a cell. The guard hit, and he began to fall.

"I've never seen a fat man kick like that," Joe remarked to Nathan.

"Neither have I," Nathan replied.

Max picked the guard up, grabbing the key ring. Dementors began to run through the hall, getting closer and closer to Max as he ran to cell thirty-four.

"Max!" Nathan yelled above the noise. "Are you crazy? You're gonna get yourself killed!"

"Hold on–I've gotta find the key!" Max flipped through the keys, finding a key marked with "34."

"Here!" he said, sliding the key into the lock, turning it. Dementors were reaching with their claws at Max.

Max remained calm, opening the door. He kicked a Dementor in the shin, which only cause them more anger.

"Leave!" Max said. "Leave!"

"Max, I can't leave you here," Nathan said.

"Go!" Max yelled, a Dementor grabbing his arm. "You, too...um, Joe!"

"Just go, Nathan," Joe whispered into Nathan's ear. "He wants us to go. We're not a threat to the Dementors until we attack them."

"Alright," Nathan said. He slipped out of the cell, only to find his head being grabbed by a Dementor.

The cheering escalated. It was a deadly brawl, every man for himself. Joe managed to slip past, his back arched against the cells. He kicked the Dementor grabbing Nathan in the back, and Nathan was subsequently released from its grip.

Max struggled with the Dementors, kicking and screaming. He bit the one holding him in the arm, but it was useless.

Joe eyed the walls. "Nathan!" he yelled. "Get me on your shoulders!"

"Why?" Nathan asked. Then he saw.

"The torches are like ten feet up...we can scare the Dementors away." Nathan nodded, squatting down.

Joe stepped on Nathan's shoulders, his height growing as Nathan began to stand. Joe grabbed the torch, jumping to the ground, avoiding the hot flame.

The Dementors turned, still holding Max. They hadn't performed the Kiss just yet.

"Come and get it," Joe said. _Okay, that was corny._ He moved the torch forward, going on the offensive.

The Dementors covered their eyes, screaming in high-pitched whines.

They dropped Max, running away.

"That was easy," Joe said.

"Let's get out of here," Nathan said with a sigh of relief. The trio began to walk outside, only to find the human guard standing in front of the door to freedom.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones–" the guard began to say.

"And burns will always hurt you," Joe said, swinging the torch at the guard. The guard ducked, kicking Joe where the sun doesn't shine.

Nathan punched the guard in the stomach, throwing him to the side. He opened the door, letting Joe–who was very much in pain–out first. Max followed, and Nathan went out last in the sunlight.

"I'm going to get a boat," Max said. "Be back in a moment."

Max quickly transformed into an eagle, and he flew across the lake.

"Did you know this guy was an Animagus?" Joe asked, turning to Nathan.

"No, not at all," Nathan replied flatly. "But I'm very glad he is."

Five minutes later, a boat arrived with Max in it.

The sounds from the prison had decreased, and order seemed to have been restored.

Joe wondered if it had taken any Kisses.

Nathan and Joe stepped into the boat. They were now fugitives.

They were now on the run.

_Author's Note: Well, I like! You get tons of action, a lot of humor (in the end), and Azkaban! Plus an Animagus! Woo hoo! I enjoyed writing this, and I still love it to death. This stuff is more fun to write than anything I've ever written, I tell you. I seriously hope you enjoyed it.  
  
Special thanks go to: Virgo, Chix, The Lone Stranger (sorry!), Conquistadore, Jisuka, Colin (Good luck!), Luckfire, and Lupin. And also to the _21_ people who read the first chapter. (Yes, you read right.)_

_Now, if over 200 people will review _Draco Sinister_, I say give every fic the same treatment! Everyone loves reviews!_

_Thanks for reading!_


	3. No Pun Intended

On the Run

Chapter 3: No Pun Intended

The human guard of Azkaban awoke, looking around. _There's no way this just happened._

He studied the prisoners, their yelling and screaming on a decrescendo.

"It happened," he said aloud. He immediately left the prison and apparated away to the Ministry of Magic.

* * *

The trio's boat docked at the Azkaban train station. Max was the first to leave the boat, looking around the station. "We're gonna apparate out this place and head for Cross Point."

"Cross Point?" Joe asked.

"Where we live," Nathan explained. He turned to Max. "You think that's a good idea?"

"I think so..." Max said. "You could always like look for clues or something."

"Bad idea," Nathan said, shaking his head. "I'm sure someone would turn me in."

"No one believes you're guilty, Nathan," Max pointed out.

"I said we're not going!" Nathan yelled. "Cross Point is too big of a wizard town to take a chance in."

"Well, where do you wanna go?" Max asked Joe.

"New Orleans," Joe replied.

"Bad idea," Max said. "That's way bigger than Cross Point, and you're bound to get caught there."

"I dunno," Nathan said. "New Orleans isn't exactly full of good people."

"He's right," Joe said. "We could get some connections down there."

"You're talking about illegal stuff!" Max argued. "Like the Mafia or something!"

"Yes, that's exactly what we're talking about," Nathan said. "They control New Orleans. Never underestimate the power of crime."

"You guys are nuts," Max said. "Let's get outta here. Say, meet at my place?"

"Yeah," Nathan and Joe agreed at once.

" 'Kay," Max said, apparating away.

"Hey, where is Max's place?" Joe asked. "I just met him today..."

"Hold my hand," Nathan said.

_"Oh yeah...tell you something...I think you'll understand...when I say that–"_

"Joe," Nathan said.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up with the Beatles."

And the two left the train station, hand-in-hand.

* * *

Duke Dingo, the Australian Minister-elect, stood in his future office's doorframe, supervising the movers.

"That's not a paperweight," he told a mover who was setting his computer monitor on a stack of papers.

"Then what is it? Does it go with that funky-lookin' thing on the floor? Looks sorta like it, ya' know..."

"Yes! That's a monitor you were about to set down on all those papers." Duke moved out the doorframe, taking the computer monitor out of the mover's hands.

Before he had Minister-elect, Duke Dingo had been a web designer, employing himself privately, working in the Australian Outback. He'd been involved in politics, writing letters to the People's Party–the political party he was affiliated with–and one day, two representatives to the People's Party had knocked on his door, asking him if he wanted to run for Minister of Magic.

Duke received a running mate named William Henry, was the object of an assassination attempt, and as they say: the rest was history.

Of course, he had gotten himself a new Vice-Minister, as his old one was involved in a huge conspiracy. So now Keith Saracens, genius and close advisor to Cornelius Fudge, was his Vice-Minister.

"Go move in something else," Duke said. "I'll take care of the computer."

"Mister Dingo," said a Spanish accented voice from behind Duke. Duke turned, his eyes falling upon Keith Saracens.

"Yeah?" Duke asked.

"What do you need a computer in your office for?" Keith asked. "I know Muggles are big on 'em, but I don't think they're needed in the office of the Minister of Magic."

"You're right, Keith. It was a dumb idea thought up by a dumb person like myself," Duke replied.

Keith smiled. "Whatever you say, Duke."

* * *

Joel Coen, friend of Duke Dingo, was also supervising a move. Tomorrow he would become the new head of the Criminal Investigation division of the Ministry.

For now, he was a Sir. The Sirs were a top secret group of men and women similar to the Unspeakables. However, the Unspeakables did not do half as much work as the Sirs. Eighty percent of all Ministry intelligence work was conducted by the Sirs.

Joel was setting a box of books on the floor, near his bookshelf. He took the books out, setting them on the bookshelf.

"Excuse me," said a voice. Joel turned around, noticing the man in the doorframe.

"Who are you?" Joel asked.

"Name's Jack Hartmeyer. I'm the human guard at Azkaban," said the man.

"I see," Joel said. "All going well?"

"Haha, funny. Mister Coen, you've got one heck of a problem facing you," said Jack. Joel nodded.

"What happened?"

"Two men escaped from Azkaban a few minutes ago," Jack said gravely.

Joel stared at the man for a few seconds. "Say that again; I don't believe what I just heard."

"Two men escaped from Azkaban a few minutes ago," Jack repeated.

"Jesus Christ."

* * *

"I want apparation nets up right now!" Joel yelled at his coworkers three minutes later. The coworkers nodded, going right to work. "No one should be able to apparate within a three hundred kilometer radius of the Ministry!"

A group of chemists immediately went to work, creating the potion they would release into the air that would not allow apparating.

"I want all units on alert...law enforcement...the Sirs...the Unspeakables....everyone needs to be on alert! We have an emergency situation!" Joel yelled.

"What's going on?" asked a worker.

"Something very bad," Joel replied.

* * *

The day passed. Duke Dingo was sworn in as Minister of Magic at noon of January 1, 2001, on the front steps of the Ministry.

He stepped into his office, the nameplate on the desk saying, for the first time: "Duke Dingo–Minister of Magic."

A group of men stepped into his office, led by Joel Coen. Joel nodded at the Minister, who began to stand.

"What's going on? Duke asked.

"Minister, we have a situation."

* * *

_"Help!"_ Joe yelled, appearing in Max's house the day before, December 31, 2000.

"What?" Max asked, looking very concerned.

_"I need somebody...help! Not just any–"_

"Shut up with the Beatles, Joe," Nathan ordered.

"No respect for music," Joe said, storming off.

"Anyway," Nathan said, "Max, I think they're gonna put up apparation nets."

"Well...uh...get plane tickets?" Max asked.

"I hate Muggle planes. I hate–" Nathan began.

"They're your only hope, Nathan. I don't want to be this serious, but I have to. There is no other way."

"If this was a novel, we'd be facing each other, staring each other down," Nathan said.

"Yep. We wouldn't be able to agree, and we'd walk away from each other," Max shot back.

"This thing is so...I dunno...unreal..." Nathan said.

There was a general conclusion in the air that the past hour had been completely pointless.

"Hey, uh," Joe said, stepping into the room, "how are we getting to New Orleans?"

"Max, Joe," Nathan said, "here's what we'll be doing."

* * *

"I'm not riding a plane on the first day of the new millennium," Joe said as the taxi brought the trio to Heathrow the next morning.

"Nobody's going to kill us," Nathan assured Joe, grabbing his duffel bag out of the trunk of the taxi.

"Hand me mine," Max told Nathan. Joe paid the cabbie.

The group walked away from the taxi, finally able to discuss their slightly illegal problems in safety.

"Max, it's great to have you coming along," Nathan said. "Of course, you did sorta break us outta jail; so it's kind of like necessary for your own safety."

"Yeah," Max agreed. He opened the glass doors to the airport, opening the way for his companions.

A man with a black suit entered the airport as well.

"Okay," Joe said, rubbing his hands together. "Where can we grab a bite to eat?"

"At O'Connor's," Max replied. "Best restaurant in this place." The group made their way through the bustling crowds, climbed up an escalator, and ate at O'Connor's.

They left about thirty minutes later, their flight leaving in an hour.

"We've gotta go to Customs," Joe said.

"Yep," Max replied. "Follow me."

They made their way behind Max, as did the man in the black suit.

* * *

"Is it just me," Max asked, "or do you feel like you're being followed?"

Nathan and Joe nodded.

"Guess we need to get used to that feeling," Nathan said. The other two nodded in agreement.

"Here we are," Nathan said, "Customs!"

They entered the double doors, their feet stepping on the gray carpet.

"Hello," greeted a woman.

"Hi!" Joe said, smiling. "You look very pretty today."

The woman smiled.

"Flirt," Nathan whispered.

"Shut up," Joe shot back.

"I'm going to have to search you," the woman said. Joe nodded.

"I hope you aren't carrying any weapons, Joe," Max whispered to Joe. Joe chuckled, turning to face his friend.

"Only the necessary ones," he said with a wink.

"Boy, you just met the girl," Nathan said, sounding like Joe's dad.

"Excuse me," said the attendant. She held up her hand. "But I'm taken."

"Jesus, Joe. You seem to have no luck at all, even with women," Max told Joe.

"Now, please hand me your passport," the woman ordered Joe. Joe pulled it out off his pocket.

"Lemme just run this through this computer...okay, you check out fine."

The woman did the same process for the other two men, then pulled out a metal detector.

"Now hold your arms up..." she said sternly. Joe smiled.

"I _won't_ be strip searching you."

* * *

Thirty minutes (and lots of flirting from men) later the three men were out of Customs, heading for their terminal.

"Hey!" yelled a man. The fugitive trio turned around, staring into the eyes of a man in a black business suit.

"What do you want?" Nathan asked, throwing down his duffel bag.

"Name's Guy Ritchie. Come with me."

* * *

The fugitive trio found themselves in a bland room, where everything seemed to be white. The mysterious man stood out sharply against the white.

"All three of you are under arrest. Nathan Talon, Joe Young, I charge you with escaping a prison facility. And you...I don't know you," the man told Max.

"Who are you? You look like a Sir...but I think the Criminal Investigation part of the Ministry should be running after three fugitives," Joe said. "Not that we're whoever you said we are."

"You've got too many pronouns in there, gorilla boy," Guy Ritchie said.

"I'll shove my gorilla fist down your throat, you Sir," Joe replied.

"I think we're being cut out of this conversation," Max interrupted.

"Three's company," Nathan pointed out.

"As I was saying before we were interrupted," Joe said, "I'll shove my gorilla fist down your throat."

"Well, go ahead, pretty boy American," came the response from the man in black.

"Prejudice runs high here," Joe said, jumping on the desk. He kicked Guy Ritchie in the face, leaping on top of him.

"Whoa!" Max said. "Let's not resort to physical confrontation."

"Hey, if Minister Fudge can beat up his shrink, I can beat up people, too," Joe replied to Max.

"He's not Minister anymore," Nathan pointed out.

"True," said Max.

"Shut up!" Guy Ritchie yelled, grabbing Joe's neck. "Take that, gorilla boy."

"You're a Sir," Max said, staying away from the violence.

"Yeah," Nathan said. "You don't care about killing people."

"Why are you even going after us?" Max asked.

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Guy replied.

"Allow me," Joe said, gasping for breath.

Max and Nathan stared at each other, nodded, then screamed like warriors in the middle of a battle in ancient Rome.

Nathan twisted his arms around the neck of the Sir, causing the Sir to release his very tight grip of Joe's neck.

"Dang, man," Joe said, getting up and rubbing his neck. "You're like a professional."

"Take his wand," Max said to Nathan. "Erase his memory, knock him out, and put some magical bonds on him. He won't be going anywhere after that."

"That's slightly illegal," Joe said.

"Well, pretty much everything we're doing is illegal," Nathan stated, releasing his grip. He pulled the wand from Guy Ritchie's pocket.

"Is Guy Ritchie that dude's name?" Joe asked, always the clueless one.

"Only if you want it to be," Max said, dragging the body to the wall. He looked at Nathan.

"Do it."

* * *

The group left the office they had just nearly been killed in, acting like everything was fine. (And when you're fugitives on the run going to New Orleans, everything pretty much is fine, as far as you're concerned.

"I say we try to avoid any men we meet who are dressed in black suits," Joe said, switching the hands holding his briefcase.

"The Muggle Mafia tends to dress like that," Nathan pointed out.

"And what do we have to do with the Mafia?" Joe asked.

"Well, I thought it was agreed we would seek underground protection once we got in New Orleans," Max said. "That's how me and Nathan saw it."

"Well, I'm not associating with a Mafia."

"Well, too bad," Nathan said. "They're the best chance for protection we have."

"And besides," Max said with a grin, "they'll make us an offer we can't refuse."

"I didn't get that," Nathan admitted.

"You're the stupidest person I've ever met," Joe told his friend.

* * *

"Hello," Joe said, greeting the woman behind the counter at the gate. _Usually these women are ugly,_ Joe thought. _But thank God for flight attendants._

"Here we go again," Max whispered to Nathan.

"I had no idea he was a flirt," Nathan whispered back.

"May I see your boarding passes?" the woman asked.

"What's your name?" Joe asked the woman. "Oh–" he pointed to her chest pocket–"hello, Julianne."

"Are you trying to touch me there?" Julianne asked. "Because if you are, I will kick your sorry American tail back to where it belongs."

"Hey, still bitter over that revolution?" Joe asked. "I'm just trying to make a good impression."

"Joe, you need help," Nathan said quietly.

"Were you just making a Beatles reference?" Joe asked.

"Not at all."

"Excuse me," said Julianne, "but are you discussing the size of my breasts?"

"At least a C," Max thought aloud, covering his mouth quickly.

"That's wishful thinking," Nathan said.

"Give me your tickets now!" Julianne said.

"What are you doing to my girlfriend?" asked a man, stepping up to the desk. He kissed Julianne on the cheek.

"Hello, honey," he said.

"Seth, these men are discussing the size of my...my..." Julianne said, holding up her chest.

"Well, that's one of the many wonderful qualities of your body," Seth said, grabbing Julianne's rear and squeezing it. Julianne laughed, and the two fell out of view.

"I thought I just heard animal sounds," Joe said, dumbfounded.

"That Seth guy stole your wannabe woman," Max remarked.

"Put your–uh!–boarding passes..." Julianne's voice faded away.

Joe, Nathan, and Max all looked at each other and shrugged at the same exact time.

"I guess she means to put 'em on the counter..." Nathan said.

A growl came from the counter.

"Seth's pretty feisty down under," Max said.

Nathan gave Max a look a mother would give her teenage son who had said something wrong.

"No pun intended," Max said, smiling and blushing at the same time.

"Lemme look down there..." Joe said. He poked his head over the counter and immediately turned back to his friends.

"Seth's down under alright." Joe smiled. "No pun intended, of course."

The animal sounds continued for about thirty more minutes.

Julianne popped up, buttoning her shirt. "Now boarding," she said into the microphone.

The fugitives received their boarding passes and left the counter, headed for the plane.

"Boy," Nathan said, "talk about public display of affection."

_Author's Note: I, the author, apologize for any bad parts of this fic. And if you are grossed out, TOO BAD!_

_I, the author, would like to apologize for the horrible writing of this chapter. I, the author, would like to say I hope I entertained you. I, the author, would like to apologize for the long wait._

_I, the author, will not run a thank you thing for this chapter. I'm sorry, but the fact is I tend to forget people; and I don't believe reviews should be dedicated to saying "YOU FORGOT ME! I HATE YOU! But good fic anyways..." No offense to Sarah, but this happens in _Draco Dormiens/Sinister,_ and I just don't feel too comfortable about getting reviews like that. (Review the fic, not the author's note.)_

_Thanks for reading this far! (Keep going...I'm not done yet!_

_So...hope you enjoyed (you probably didn't) and PLEASE review and spread the word about _On the Run_ if you like it. (Odds are this chapter disappointed beyond belief.) After all, twenty people can't be wrong! (There are probably less readers on Chapter 2...and that means that there will be a reader dropoff to less than ten readers per chapter...BUT I WON'T KNOW BECAUSE THE STATS PAGE IS SCREWED!)_

_So thanks for reading and hope to see you review! (Hint...hint!)_


	4. Gambling Lives

On the Run Chapter 4:

Gambling Lives

The three stepped on the plane, each greeted individually by a flight attendant.

"Stop staring at her butt, Joe," Max ordered.

_"The long and winding–" _Joe began to sing.

"That has nothing to do with what we're doing at the moment, Joe," Nathan said.

_"She was a day tripper!"_ Joe yelled.

"And I'm sure you'll mention the one-night stand part out loud in this plane to everybody here," Max cracked.

"Of course," Joe said. "That's the best part."

And so Joe sang "Day Tripper," impressing a flight attendant with his knowledge of the song.

"I've never met a bigger flirt," Nathan commented as the three took their seats together in coach.

"Get set, guys," Nathan said. "Because odds are, there's a Sir or someone else on this plane."

* * *

Colin Creevey flashed his press pass to the security guard, who nodded, allowing entrance to the _Daily Prophet_ reporter.

"You know what the Minister's gonna announce?" Colin asked the guard. The guard shook his head.

Colin walked past, finding his seat in the front row, all the way to the left.

"Two minutes!" said a woman, running across the stage.

Blue curtains hung behind a podium with the official seal of the Minister of Magic on it.

The woman, whom Colin recognized as Ebony Clark, stepped up to the podium a minute and fifty-five seconds later.

"Ladies, gentlemen," she began, "the Minister of Magic has an announcement to make."

Duke Dingo, dressed in dark black, stepped into view, to much polite applause. He stepped up to the podium.

"Thank you," he began.

"Ladies and gentlemen, today is the beginning of a new era. It is an era of peace, of prosperity, of honesty, of _justice."_

The crowd silenced, its whispers coming to a halt.

"Yesterday, Nathan Talon of Cross Point, England, and Joe Young of Shady Grove, Louisiana, United States, escaped from Azkaban with the help of Max Brown, also from Cross Point."

The whispers immediately made a comeback, almost growing to the volume of the Minister's voice.

"Nathan Talon was arrested on September eighth of last year. Joe was arrested the day before. Joe Young was sentenced to Azkaban for murdering his brother. Nathan went because he murdered his neighbor, his wife, and his only son."

The whispers decreased as three full-body pictures of the men appeared behind Duke.

"Joe and Nathan had only been in Azkaban for a week," Duke said. "As for where they are, we're not sure. They were spotted in Heathrow, the Muggle airport in London, where it was expected for them to board a plane headed out of the country. We believe they are somewhere in the United States. The three men beat one of our agents in the airport and erased his memory, so we do not know if this is accurate or not.

"The Ministry of Magic asks for your help in this matter. Please see the press kits which you will receive after the question and answer session with myself the man in charge of the Department of Criminal Investigation, Joel Coen."

Joel Coen stepped on the stage, making his way to the podium. He shook Duke's hand.

"I wanna go after these guys," Joel whispered in Duke's ear. "I wanna get 'em myself. I wanna go after them."

"Joel, do you think that's safe?" Duke asked.

"Don't make me resign in front of all these people."

"I'll think about it, Joel," Duke said, smiling.

"Now," Duke said, turning to the crowd, "who's first?"

"Mister Coen," said Colin, jumping from his seat, "who is heading the investigation?"

"I am," Joel said, looking at Duke. Duke nodded.

"Minister Dingo, don't you think someone with more experience–" a German reporter from the back began.

"Joel Coen has a lot more experience than you think," Duke replied.

"Then what did he do?" asked another reporter.

"He was a special agent for the Ministry," said Duke. "Next question?"

* * *

Colin's quill scribbled down everything being said in the session while Colin dug through his press kit.

A picture of the three men together. Background information. _So this Max guy is an unregistered Animagus,_ Colin thought.

_What's this?_ he asked, pulling out a letter with Duke's seal on it.

****

Dear Mister Creevey,

Please meet us after the press conference on the stage. We have a proposition for you.

Sincerely,

Duke Dingo, Minister of Magic

Joel Coen, head of the Department of Criminal Investigations

"Hey, I didn't get that in my press kit," said a reporter, looking at the piece of paper in Colin's hand. "You stupid _DP_ reporters; you get all the exclusives."

"I don't think it's that," Colin replied.

"Then what do you think it is?" asked the reporter.

"None of your business."

* * *

"Mister Creevey, it's nice to see you," Duke Dingo greeted.

"Likewise," Colin responded. Joel nodded to Colin, acknowledging him.

"Follow me, Colin," Joel said, walking off the stage.

They walked through a dimly lit hallway, headed for Duke Dingo's office.

They entered the office, with Duke taking a seat behind his desk. Joel stood to the right of Duke.

"What am I here for?" Colin asked, taking his seat. "I didn't do anything illegal that I know of..."

Joel smiled. "Colin, I'd like for you to come with us on our search."

"What?" Colin said. "I have a job!"

"Exactly," Duke said. "We want a reporter there...as we don't want people speculating on the events. We want the exact version of what we're doing–not everything, mind you; but a lot–for people to know. We'll send these reports out for syndication."

"Don't you think you should like keep this secret?" Colin asked.

"That's the thing," Duke said. "We're not telling people everything. Just what we want them to hear."

"I see..." Colin said. "I'll do it."

"Good," Joel said, nodding.

"Who else is going?" Colin asked. "When do we leave?"

"We've got the former head of the Sirs going..." Duke said. "Orson Welles. He was head of Criminal Investigations for Fudge last year after that other guy retired. Fudge didn't like him much; but he didn't want Orson heading up the Sirs anymore, you see."

"Who else?" Colin asked.

"We're gonna ask George Weasley," Joel said quickly. "Yes, the hostage negotiator."

"I always thought he was gonna run that joke shop with his brother," Colin said, "but I guess he just outgrew it."

"Either way, they're both rich and famous–not matter what they do," Duke said.

"When do we leave?" asked Colin.

"Tomorrow."

* * *

The fugitives were flying over the Atlantic, enjoying their smooth ride. Joe was in the bathroom–for the ninth time–while Nathan and Max were both asleep.

A man got up from his seat, dressed in casual civilian clothing. He wore a green polo shirt, a pair of khakis, and held his right hand in his pocket.

"Hello," he said, waking Max and Nathan up.

"I wanna ride the–who are you?" Max asked the man, rubbing his eyes. "You woke me up from my beauty sleep."

"You're under arrest," said the man.

Joe stepped out of the bathroom, running to his seat. "Who's your friend, guys?"

"I'm not sure," Nathan yelled. "But he just arrested me and Max."

"Well, he didn't arrest me," Joe said. "You're under arrest," the man told Joe straightly.

The man's right hand appeared out of his pocket, and a white wand was clenched in his hand. He held it at Joe's head.

"Help!" Joe yelled. "This man has a gun!"

"That's not part of the song," said a flight attendant. Joe turned his head back at the woman.

"I'm being serious for once, honey," Joe said.

"You're not allowed to carry firearms on a plane!" yelled the blonde flight attendant, going into a karate stance.

"Who do you think you are?" asked the man whose wand had been mistakenly called a gun. "One of Charlie's Angels or something?"

The woman shrugged.

"Well, you're not half as good-looking as them," the man said, pointing the wand at her.

Max unbuckled his seatbelt, throwing his arms around the assassin's neck. "Who are you?" Max asked. "What do you want?"

"The Ministry of Magic has sent me here to arrest all three of you fugitives," the man said. "And I'm not telling you my name."

Joe stayed where he was, afraid to move. Max grabbed the man's wand and was immediately kicked in a wonderful spot below his waist. Max yelled in pain as the flight attendant screamed while Joe began to attack the man.

The mysterious Ministry man kicked Joe back, and Nathan decided to join the fight. Nathan began by sneaking up behind the guy and literally kicking him in the rear.

"Hey!" the agent yelled, grabbing his rear. He pointed the wand at Nathan. _"Avada–"_

"Avada my butt," Joe commented, jumping on top of the man. "Ride the pony! Ride the pony!"

"You're very immature," Max said.

Joe kicked his feet, trying to throw the man off balance. Suddenly, there was a wand poking at his chin. The mood became very serious now.

"This is bad," Max said. "Very bad."

"Make one move," the agent said, "and the kid dies." Max gulped, staring at his friends, calling for help.

"What do you want?" Nathan asked.

"Come with me," the agent said. "We'll let ya'll go...but you have to come with me."

"What did you guys do?" asked a passenger.

"Well, the kid I'm holding killed a guy, and the fat guy named Nathan killed three while their friend who is also a fat fella helped them escape."

There was a collective gasp. "And I don't lie, folks. I'm an agent of the law for the Ministry of Magic. Yes, folks, there is magic in this world. Yes, I can turn you into a toad."

The man winked at Nathan. Nathan stared at the man like he was crazy.

The man released his grip of Joe and immediately grabbed Nathan. "Are you guilty?" he asked Nathan. Nathan squirmed, trying to get out of the choke hold. "Tell me, man. Are you guilty?"

Joe kicked the man's right knee in, causing Nathan and him to fall the to the floor. Nathan grabbed the man's wand, shoving it in the man's face.

"Avada this," he told the man. And Nathan completely wiped the agent's memory.

* * *

George Weasley always had an open door policy. Well, usually that open door had led to some kind of prank.

But not this time. Joel Coen knocked on George's open door.

"There's no need to knock," George said. "The only time my door's ever been closed was when me any my brother made all that prank stuff."

Joel stepped in George's office.

"Hello, Joel," George greeted. Joel nodded.

"Hi."

"What brings you to my humble Ministry abode, Mister Coen?" George asked.

"Well," Joel said. "I think you know."

"Really?" George asked. "I haven't been paying too much attention to the news recently."

"Seriously?"

"You're so gullible, Joel. Yeah, I know why you're here."

"Great," Joel said.

"I'm not going to lunch with you, Joel. I'm too busy," George said. He propped his feet on his desk. "Maybe tomorrow."

"No, that's not it." Joel smiled.

"I was joking, you know? Haha," George said, explaining his joke that had almost failed.

"I know. Really though, Georgie–"

'"Don't call me that."

"Really, George...I want you to come with me to go after these three fugitive guys."

"What?" George asked, getting up from his desk. "And leave my home?"

"Of course," Joel said. "You'll become famous when we catch these guys."

"As if I'm not famous enough."

"Okay...well, more famous than Harry Potter."

"That guy's a nutcase."

"Let's get back on the subject now, George," Joel said. "Are you in?"

"Of course."

* * *

"Welcome, men," Joel said the next day at his Ministry office to Colin and George. "We've got apparation nets up everywhere, in case our little fugitives haven't left the country."

"You know, that Max Brown guy and that Nathan Talon dude's stomachs are slightly larger than little," Colin cracked.

"Save the sarcasm for the plane," Joel said. Colin nodded.

"We're going on a plane?" George asked. "Seriously?"

"Of course," Joel said.

"You're joking, right?" Colin asked.

"Of course," Joel said.

"I'm confused," Colin said. He coughed for a second, a cough so severe Joel wondered whether or not food would fly out of the reporter-turned-crime fighter's mouth.

"We're apparating to America," Joel began, "but when we get to America we won't be able to apparate."

"Why?" Colin asked.

"The underground organizations in America keep track of all that stuff. They've got just as many resources as the Ministry," George said before Joel could answer.

"Oh," Colin said. He nodded. "Then why did you say that other stuff, Joel?"

"I was trying to be funny."

* * *

The Ministry agent awoke from slight shock of his memory loss, and Nathan smiled.

"Hi," Nathan said. The now brain-dead man stared at Nathan Talon like he was Elvis back from the dead. (Or just returning from his alien abduction.)

"Who are you?"

"My name is Santa Claus," Nathan said. Max squatted down, staring at the clueless guy.

"And I'm the Easter Bunny."

Joe joined the two.

"This is Mrs. Claus," Max said, pointing to Joe. "The woman Santa Claus loves with all his heart and soul and other things as well."

"What are these other things?"

"Well, when a man loves a woman and wants to spend a few nights getting some before moving on–" Joe began.

"Hey!" Nathan said. "I will never screw you!"

"Shut up and take off your pants," Joe said sarcastically. Nathan shook his head.

"Not even if you'd let me videotape it," Nathan replied, smiling.

"Huh?" asked the Ministry's new form of Gilderoy Lockhart.

"Never mind," Max said.

"You're the Easter Bunny, right?"

"Yes, I am...anyway...we're going to throw you out of that door over there," Max said, pointing to the exit hatch in the middle of coach, "and let you fly down to your home, where you can see your mommy and your daddy and your ex-wife and your illegitimate child."

"Max, I think you're taking this too far," Nathan said seriously. "Just throw him out."

"Give him a parachute first!" said a flight attendant.

"Will he know how to use it?" Joe pointed out.

"I know how to use a parachute!" said Mr. My Brain Capacity is Zero, standing up. "You just rip the cord and go–" he waved his hands around, moving his feet–"wee!"

"Of course," the flight attendant said. She patted the man on the back and was handed a parachute from another flight attendant.

"Joe, stop staring at that woman's chest," Max whispered.

"I was staring at her waist," Joe replied.

"Sure..." Nathan joined in.

"Now all you've got to do is go out of this door," said Nathan, leading the man to it. "Just jump out and go–" Nathan made an impression of the man's previous behavior–"wee!"

"I hope he lands in a nuthouse," Nathan said, kicking the man out of the door. He held onto a seat tightly and grabbed the hatch, closing it. "Nearly followed him."

Max nodded. "Let's just hope he doesn't perform a Lockhart on us all."

Nathan smiled and wiped the memories of everyone but himself and his friends.

* * *

The plane landed, and the trio found themselves in New Orleans. They went through Customs–no Ministry agents to beat up this time–and headed out.

"Nathan Talon, Max Brown, and Joe Young, please report to a service desk ," said a voice over the intercom.

The three stared at each other. They said the exact same obscenity at the exact same time.

"Maybe it's not that," Max said. Nathan nodded.

"Doubtful," he said, "but it could be our Mafia friends trying to contact us."

"That's highly unlikely," Joe agreed. "But we've gotta take a chance. This could be like a test or something...to see if we can risk things."

"Or they might have no idea that we threw a man off of an airplane," Max pointed out.

"Let's do it," Nathan said. The two others nodded in agreement.

And so the fugitives headed for a service desk.

_Author's Note: More pointless stuff from the master of the pointless! (That's me, people!) Well, in terms of this chapter (The first writing of mine I uploaded using the chaptering system!) I like it a lot more than the last. There's some serious stuff, a little action (but I still think this story's more action than comedy...unlike most movies, I give a plot to my action stuff.), and tons of comedy that I hope I succeeded in writing._

_And explanation for the chapter title: Our three "heroes" are gambling their lives constantly, they gambled that guy's life, and our crime fighters are gambling their lives. Thought it was a cool chapter title, so...well, you got it!_

_I seriously know this was pointless. Really, people...I'm just advancing the plot here. Soon (hopefully next chapter...) there will be some Mafia stuff and some great plot twists. Wait till you see what I have cooked up! I've got some great ideas, and let's hope they come out well digitally! (Ha. Ha. Ha.)_

_Thanks to all who read and reviewed (won't mention names) and as for the Lockhart comments..._Informed_ is all Lockhart. Joel Coen and company made their first appearance in _Election_ (with the exception of little Creevey) while the reference to Fudge in the last chapter was from _The Visit._ I reference my fics. God, I'm pathetic._

_Now _PLEASE_ leave a review for this chapter...would you like it if people didn't review? All my old reviewers...leave a review (and since you're all nice, cool people, ya'll will) and new reviewers...review! I'm serious, people! I only get to know what a few people think each chapter...wouldn't it be cool to know what everyone thought? Hehe..._

_Thanks for reading!_


	5. Love and Death

On the Run

Chapter 5: Love and Death

"I'm Nathan Talon," Nathan said, stepping up to the nearest service desk. The attendant nodded, and Joe and Max stepped up behind Nathan.

"Here's your message," the attendant said, handing the men a yellow sticky note.

"Thank you," Nathan said, accepting it. The men walked away, going to read their message in private.

"Meet us in the men's bathroom...third stall to the end," Nathan read. "That's it. The whole message."

"I think we'd look slightly wrong if all three of us stepped into a public bathroom stall together," Joe said.

"I agree," Max said, "but we have to."

"He's right," Nathan said, folding the note and putting it in his jeans pocket. "We're gonna have to go."

* * *

And so the three completely straight men walked through the small walkway leading into the men's bathroom. The wall was like shower tiles, providing an opaque view of the bathroom.

They stepped inside, noticing the many men answering Nature. Max walked past the stalls, getting to the stall they were looking for.

"It's taken," Max announced. Suddenly there was a flush sound, and an Indian man stepped out of the stall Max was standing in front of.

"It all yours," the man said in his thick Indian accent.

"Huh?" Max asked.

"Go in da stall," the man said. Max nodded.

"Thanks," he said. Max stepped into the stall, motioning for Nathan and Joe to come in.

The two shook their heads. "Wait for the other two next to you–" Joe began.

"Get in the darn stall with me so we can make animal sounds and go down under!" Max yelled. The whole bathroom grew quiet. "But no one else...we wanna do this alone."

The men nodded and went back to their business. Nathan and Joe stepped into the stall. Max locked the stall.

"Drop your pants but not your underwear," Max commanded. Nathan and Joe shook their heads.

There was a knock on the door. "Havin' fun?" asked a guy, who ran away laughing.

Max, Nathan, and Joe immediately dropped their pants and moved their legs back and forth, making animal sounds.

A fourth man appeared in the stall. "Nathan, I didn't know you were–"

"I'm not," Nathan said, pulling up his pants. "But it was a way to get in this stall."

"Quick thinkin', Nathan." The Italian man patted Nathan's pot belly and then his own.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Vinny Vinicci, a member of the Vinicci family, the second largest family in New Orleans–we're talking about wizards here, of course."

"I'm Joe," Joe said, offering his hand for Vinny to shake. "Joe Young." Vinny hesitated for a moment, then shook Joe's hand.

"And that's Max," Nathan said. Max smiled at Vinny like they were old friends and shook his hand.

Joe thought he heard a whisper of conversation between Max and Vinny, but he couldn't be sure.

"Shall we go to the headquarters?" Vinny asked, clapping his hands together. His black hair (and a few white streaks) was slicked back, making him look like your typical Mafia man.

"Of course," Max said. And the four men disappeared, leaving a locked bathroom stall behind them.

* * *

Joel Coen, Colin Creevey, and George Weasley stepped humbly backstage at the Ministry press room. They had a press conference to attend to.

"Hello," Duke said as Joel stepped beside him. "Ready to go catch some killers?"

"Of course," Joel replied, smiling. "Not that it's funny."

"Of course not," Duke replied. "We start in five minutes."

"Really?" Joel asked.

"Yeah," Duke said. He turned to his friend, and he noticed the height difference between himself and Joel. Duke was a man with an average height, while Joel seemed to tower over him.

"I really wish I could go, Joel. I'm sure it'd be more fun than being Minister of Magic...I need some excitement in my life."

"Get a woman," Joel said. "Find some love...you're Minister of Magic, Duke. Can't be that hard. And besides...you need it." He smiled.

"You're joking, right?" Duke asked in between chuckles. Joel shook his head.

"When I get home," Joel said, "you better have a woman."

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Minister of Magic."

Duke stepped on the stage, a straight look on his face. He stepped up to the podium.

"I don't think I should be having to deal with fugitives on the first week of my term as Minister of Magic," Duke cracked. The audience laughed politely. Duke smiled.

"On a more serious note...I'd like to introduce Joel Coen, who will be heading up the search for Nathan, Max, and Joe. Joel?"

Joel stepped up from behind the curtain, nodding to Duke. "Thank you, Duke.

"The team out to catch Nathan, Max, and Joe–who are apparently already so famous we refer to them by first name–is made up of three men, including myself. First...we have Colin Creevey, _Daily Prophet_ reporter, who will be following this for the press, providing the official story, as well as getting his hands dirty in all of this." Colin stepped from behind the curtain, taking his place next to Duke.

"I know many of you may wonder why we have chosen a reporter for this job." Joel paused, moving his eyes from one end of the crowd to the far end. "But I have every confidence in Mister Creevey. He was an excellent reporter during the election, and many of you may be reminded by his first story–which uncovered the truth behind Julius Kaiser. He is investigative reporting at its best, and he will certainly come in handy.

"Our final member is one who does not need introduction." The crowd paused, and Joel could hear whispers of "Harry Potter" in the crowd. _No one would ever want to put that big headed dolt on something like this._

"Ladies and gentlemen, George Weasley."

George stepped from behind the curtain, waving and smiling. Joel looked back, nodding to his friends.

"We will not be taking any questions. Thank you."

* * *

"Welcome to the Vinicci family," Vinny said as the four appeared in a dimly lit mansion hallway. "My father is the Godfather of the family." The four made their way into a large kitchen, where a Creole maid was preparing dinner.

"Hello, Clarice," Vinny said, coming up behind the woman and kissing her on both cheeks. "I can't wait to eat."

"Get away from me, Vinny. You're gonna get to eat when everyone else does!" Clarice went back to stirring something in her pot. "Turkey sausage gumbo."

"Good," Vinny said. The Creole woman looked up from her pot.

"Who're your friends?"

"Say hello the new friends of the family: Nathan Talon, Max Brown, and Joe Young."

"Hello, men. Are they staying with us, Vinny?"

Vinny nodded. "Yes. I think we can trust 'em."

"Well, make yourself at home, boys."

* * *

"Nathan, can I see you alone?" Joe asked as the three dropped off their duffel bags on their beds. "I need to talk to you about your connections..."

"Sure."

Nathan and Joe stepped to the side of the room, huddled in the corner.

"How do you know these people?" Joe asked. "Does Max know 'em?"

"My dad was their informant at the Ministry in London," Nathan replied. "But I was always clean. I told them I didn't want to do anything bad, and they told me that if I ever needed help to find them. So here we are."

"What about Max?"

"His dad was an American...killed by a rival family two days before Max's birth. He was also an informant to the Viniccis."

"Oh," Joe said. "Are we safe here?"

"Just don't betray the family and do what they tell you to do. That's all you have to do."

"What if they ask me to do anything illegal?"

"I already told you, Joe. Do what they tell you to do."

* * *

Joel, George, and Colin sat in Duke Dingo's office, their bags spread over the floor. Duke had volunteered–for no reason at all–for the group to sort their bags in his office.

"I've got everything," Colin announced.

"Me, too," George said.

"Me three."

"Well, I guess you guys can go now," the Minister of Magic said. "Good luck. Not that you'll need it."

"Duke, we're gonna be looking around New York City first," Joel said. "Odds are the three went underground, and we'll be checking underground connections in a bunch of cities."

"Are you going to get any help?" Duke asked.

"Yeah, we'll use some Americans to help us," Joel replied. He looked around the room, grabbing his bags. "Well...I think we're ready to leave now."

"Yeah," Duke said. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Minister Dingo," Colin said, shaking the Minister's hand.

"Ta-ta, darling," George joked. Duke laughed. "See ya around, Dukie boy."

"Don't forget to owl us," Joel said, his body beginning to vanish slowly into thin air and his voice fading as well.

The three disappeared within two seconds.

"Goodbye."

And Duke Dingo suddenly felt a bit lonely.

* * *

Nathan, Max, Joe, and Vinny stepped into a smoke-filled room, full of poker players.

"Royal flush, you losers! Who's the man? Who's the man?" yelled a man, jumping from his seat and dancing like a lunatic.

"I am the man," said a low voice in a wheelchair.

"Yes, you are, Godfather."

"Give me that money."

"Yes, Sir."

The young man handed the Godfather his winnings. "Cheater," Joe whispered.

"No one disobeys the Godfather," Vinny said.

"What?" the Godfather asked.

"Hello, Mister Godfather Sir," Max said. "I'm Max Brown; my friend Nathan brought us here."

The Godfather wheeled to the foursome. "Oww..." Joe whispered. "That's my foot...ouch..."

"Can we trust you three?" the Godfather asked.

"Don't you want to know our names?" Max asked. Joe's foot was in his head; the Louisianan was hopping around the room, trying to overcome the pain.

"No," the Godfather replied.

The Godfather lifted himself up from out of his wheelchair. "I'm too lazy to really walk around," the Godfather explained. "But sitting down a lot certainly makes your butt tough."

"They're gonna be tested tomorrow," Vinny said. The Godfather nodded.

"Don't disappoint me, guys." He pointed at Nathan. "Especially you."

* * *

"We're being tested?!" Nathan yelled to Vinny as the two of them walked through the mansion. "There is no way I'm doing anything tomorrow!"

"Look, Nathan. We're not worried about you disappointing us, okay? You'll pull through. So will Max. The only guy we're worried about is this Joe character."

"Why?"

"He just doesn't seem like the type."

"Oh," Nathan said. The two stopped in the kitchen, both picking up an apple. "Will we get wands for this job?"

"Of course," Vinny replied. "We're gonna test them out in a few minutes."

Nathan took a bite out of his apple. "So just what will we be doing?"

* * *

"Welcome to Magical Life Insurance," Vinny said as the four apparated on a New Orleans street. "This is where you'll be tested."

"Okay..." Joe said, shielding his face from the sun. His black cloak made him look more important than he ever figured he'd look.

"This is the front we use to collect money," Vinny explained. "However, one of our employees has betrayed the family. You see, we had a deal with a restaurant...we get fifteen percent of the profits...but this idiot inside managed to find out and told the other big family in New Orleans."

"The Guzzetas?" Nathan asked.

"Right you are." Vinny paused for a moment, adjusting his cloak collar. "I want this guy dead."

"Right..." Joe said. "That's slightly illegal."

"I know," Vinny said.

"Betraying the family is not right either," Nathan pointed out. Vinny nodded.

"He's got a point," Max said.

"And if you can't kill him," Vinny said, "don't worry. I'd prefer you guys just like crush his legs or something."

"Yeah, paralyze him. That's not as bad as death," Joe said sarcastically. _What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

"I'd like to be some life insurance," Nathan said, entering the door. Max and Joe followed.

"These are my friends," Nathan said, pointing at the duo behind him. "They'll just sit and wait."

"Do you have an appointment?" asked the small man behind a desk. "You can't buy insurance without an appointment."

Nathan pulled out his wand. "You're gonna be the one needing life insurance in a moment if you don't give me my appointment."

"Alrighty then..." The man stared down at a book and then glanced up.

"Follow me."

* * *

Nathan followed the man into the backroom. The little man sat behind another desk.

"So what do you really want?" the man asked. Nathan leaned up in his chair.

"Life insurance."

"No one demands life insurance like you just did, Sir," the man replied.

The little man got up from the leather chair and slid across the desk, grabbing Nathan's neck. Nathan grabbed the man's hands, but it was no use. The man head butted Nathan, sending Nathan into a moment of shock.

It was just enough time for the little man to grab Nathan's wand, snap it, and tie up and gag Nathan.

* * *

"You know," Joe said, "I dunno if this is such a good idea."

"What do you mean, Joe?" Max asked. "Nathan's beating him up. Can't you hear it?"

"He certainly got a lot tougher around the Mafia," Joe said. Max nodded.

"He's just trying to live up to his father."

_"Penny Lane, there is a barber–"_

"Not right now," Max said. "Please."

The door to the backroom opened, and out came a little man.

* * *

"That looks a bit too much like an Oompa Loompa," Joe said, studying the little man.

"I'm gonna give you a puzzle!" yelled the little man, pulling out his wand. "I know why you're here. But I've got more money than you can dream of waiting for me. And a few Vinicci family thugs aren't going to get in my way!"

"Feisty little guy," Max said. The little man muttered a few words, and Joe and Max discovered they couldn't move.

"Oww!" Joe yelled as the small man kicked him in the shin. "Look, midget–" Joe was kicked again, this time in a place vital to reproduction.

"Joe, it looks like your swinging single self will not be having any children," Max commented as the little man punched Max's pot belly. "Don't touch my blubber."

* * *

_Well, he can't tie knots that well,_ Nathan thought as he stepped out of the chair. _Or maybe I was just a good Boy Scout._

Nathan quietly slipped out of the backroom door.

* * *

"Hey!" yelled the little man, turning to look at Nathan. "You're not supposed to be out!"

"You're supposed to know how to tie your knots."

"Oh, shut up!" yelled the little man. He pointed his wand toward Nathan. "You ruined my plans! God! Nothing ever goes right!"

* * *

Vinny Vinicci stood outside, waiting for Nathan, Joe, and Max to appear.

He'd been waiting for a while. "Something's up," he said to himself.

* * *

The little short man had the three fugitives arranged all in a pretty little row, and he seemed to be torturing them.

"I'd appreciate it if we weren't always kicked in our vital areas," Max said. "Because it really hurts, and I do want to have kids one day."

"Well, so do I; but I don't even have those anymore."

"You don't have to take out your anger on us," Joe said.

_God, I screwed up,_ Nathan thought. _God, that didn't sound right._ Nathan then looked outside, and he could see Vinny nearing the door.

"Frederick," Vinny said, opening the door, "you're going down." Frederick–the little man–turned around and cursed.

"Everything always has to go wrong," he said. "At least let me like cause a hostage situation or something, Vinny. If I'm gonna betray the family, I'm not going down like this."

"You're so insecure," Vinny said, pointing his wand in Vinny's direction. He then turned, pointing his wand at the three would-be hitmen. He released them from the magical bonds.

"Stand aside," Vinny said. His eyes narrowed, concentrating on Frederick.

_"Avada kedavra."_

_Author's Note: You like? You seriously like it? It's really back on track with the plot here...and I promise you'll see more of the Mafia in the Chapter 6. I promise! And Duke will start his search...while Colin, Joel, and George search for the fugitives. I know I let them sorta hang...but they'll be back. I promise. (Or they could all get run over by mad taxi drivers...HA! Not!)_

_Well, hope you enjoyed...please review!_


	6. Dinner Tables and Bars

On the Run

On the Run

Chapter 6: Dinner Tables and Bars

"Holy..." Nathan said, almost in shock from Vinny's sudden use of magic. "That was unexpected, man."

"Yeah," Joe said.

"It's the business. Get used to it," Vinny said.

* * *

"Welcome to New York City," Joel said as him and his partners appeared in the Big Apple. They were at a Ministry office, part of Criminal Investigations.

Colin Creevey took note of his surroundings, knowing this would all be included in his reports to the world.

George Weasley felt right at home at a place like this.

"I'm gonna go tell the guys we're here," Joel said. "We'll be making some underworld contacts...making some connections. I doubt they're in New York, but you never know what you might turn up."

* * *

The Godfather sat in his bedroom, his son Vinny sitting across from him.

"So they didn't screw it up?" the Godfather asked. Vinny shook his head.

"We can trust 'em."

"Good." The Godfather made his way up from his wheelchair. "The Ministry men are in New York City. I've got connections in the Big Apple, throwing them off-track. I'm just worried someone will betray us. This family's been embarrassed enough as it is."

"Don't worry, Dad." Vinny got up from his seat and began to get up. "I don't think anyone will."

* * *

"Well..." Nathan rubbed his hands together as Vinny stepped out of his father's bedroom.

"You're in," Vinny said. "Dad trusts you. The Ministry people are in New York City right now. You're safe as well."

"Good," Joe said. "So when are we gonna meet everyone?"

"Yeah." Max said. "When will we meet everyone?"

"There'll be a dinner tonight to celebrate your welcoming into our family. You're in our family now." Vinny turned to Joe, as if speaking to him. "Remember that."

* * *

"Welcome to New York City," a man in black robes said, shaking hands with the Joel, George, and Colin. "It's great to have you here."

"Our pleasure," Joel said. "As you know...we're searching for Max Brown, Nathan Talon, and Joe Young. If I'm not mistaken, Nathan's father was involved with the Vinicci Mafia," Joel said. "But the Ministry never got confirmation on that."

"True," the main said. "Do you think they're with the Viniccis?"

"I'd bet on it," George said, stepping into the conversation. "They want protection."

"Not only do they want it, they need it," Colin added.

"They do," Nathan said. "We need to make some connections here...find out if anyone knows anything."

"We've got that covered," the Ministry man said. "Just follow me."

* * *

_"Come together right–"_ Joe sang as he quietly walked through the house. He passed a man in a suit, the man's arm around a woman.

"Shut up, you dumb–" the man began.

"Benny, don't use profane language!" the woman said, turning to the man. They began to kiss passionately.

"Jesus," Joe said. He ran to his bedroom. This world was so different.

* * *

Duke Dingo flipped through his Hogwarts yearbook, looking at his old friends, foes, and common acquaintances. He wondered what they would think of him now, the slacker who talked back to teachers, now turned into Minister of Magic, most powerful man in the magical world.

He stopped at a woman's name, someone he had long sought after in his seven years at Hogwarts. She'd of course rejected him, opting instead for a Quidditch captain named Doug.

Duke had, of course, sat in the background, always admiring the beauty that was Monica Phillips from afar. His confidence had never been that great.

How he wanted her. How he now had the chance...

_Perhaps just dinner, _he thought to himself, __a chance to remember old times.

* * *

"Oh, I'm sorry," Joe said, noticing a beautiful woman making his bed. Her hair was light blonde, her eyes a dark hazel. Her hourglass figure moved gracefully, a sight to heal the blind.

"Oh, it's okay," she said, smiling.

"Are you a maid?" Joe asked. The woman shook her head, smiling. Joe smiled back.

"I'm just one of those mobsters' wives," she said. Joe suddenly began to feel shame at his feelings.

"Why were you making my bed?" he asked.

"I'm a clean freak," she said.

"What's your name?" Joe asked.

"Sarah Vinicci–I'm Vinny's wife."

* * *

Nathan and Max sat in the living room, conversing.

"Isn't it neat, Max?" Nathan asked. "I mean, this is what our parents lived in...a world where you can trust no one...you can have whatever you want...there's intrigue...there's suspense...there's–"

"Murder," Max said.

"Pardon?" Nathan asked.

"There's murder," Max said.

"No different from our world."

"We're in the same world, Nathan! Get over it! You're on the same planet; you're under the same government; the laws are the same; the people are the same! We've been in New Orleans for like two days, and you've just suddenly changed! I don't like this, Nathan. I don't like it at all."

"Max, this is our only way to get protected. We're better off here than running across the world."

"Screw this!" Max said. "I want to go! I can see my uncle here; I'm half-American, you know."

"You sound very British to me," Nathan said.

"Screw you, too," Max said. "This place is dangerous."

"Why?" Nathan said. "Your dad was–"

"My dad was killed, Nathan! By a rival Mafia! Your dad barely got out of it alive!"

"Joe's fine with this, Max. And if he's fine with it, you should be, too."

"I don't think Joe is, Nathan. But I think he'll risk it...just to please you."

"That's bull, Max. You know it."

A large elegant door was opened, and in stepped Vinny Vinicci.

"Hello," Vinny said pleasantly, noting the looks in the two men's eyes. Physical violence was looming on the horizon.

Clarice entered behind Vinny, spreading her arms under his waist. Vinny made a stop motion, though he was enjoying his little massage.

"Later today," he said. "We've got a problem."

"Boys will be boys," Clarice whispered. She licked his ear. "But men are another case..."

"Clarice, please leave; I'm embarrassed." Max arched his eyebrow at Vinny, a look of curiosity on his face.

"Alrighty," Clarice said. She left, closing the doors behind her.

"Women."

"Yes, indeed," Max said.

"You wouldn't know, Max," Nathan said.

"Shut up," Max replied.

"Please sit down," Vinny said, motioning toward the leather couch. They each took a seat, Vinny crossing his legs.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked. Joe looked at Nathan and turned back.

"What seems to make you think there is a problem?" Joe asked. Nathan stared down at the couch.

"I heard arguing," Vinny said. "If there's anything wrong here, just let us know; and we'll take care of it."

"We were..." Nathan said, thinking.

"Rehearsing," Max said. "We were rehearsing."

"Rehearsing?" Vinny asked. "For what?"

"A play," Nathan said. "Well, not as much rehearsing as writing. We're writing a play."

"And we were trying out dialogue," Max said. "Because sometimes written dialogue just doesn't work."

"Ah," Vinny said. "Will you be able to perform it?"

"We're only on the rough draft, and Max is heckuva rewriter."

"I'm a perfectionist," Max said, shrugging. "Blame it on my parents. Everything just had to be perfect..."

"I heard references to your parents..."

"It's autobiographical," Nathan said. "It's about..."

"Two men, fugitives that were framed, on the run from a corrupt sheriff in their British hometown, hiding in the home of the town criminal mastermind who also runs a small-town organized crime group, muggers and such."

"Nice," Vinny said. "I hope to see it performed, if you finish the play."

"You never know," Max said.

"Well, I'll leave Gilbert and Sullivan to themselves," Vinny said, getting up and walking to the door.

"But they wrote musicals," Nathan said. Vinny turned around.

"It's just a figure of speech, my playwright friend. Good day."

And with that, Vinny shut the doors and walked out.

* * *

"We need to hit the streets," Colin said, looking through the files on the New York City Mafia contacts. "We're not gonna find any information in these files."

"He's right," George said. Joel nodded.

"Yeah, I know. I think we need to start at the Jolly Jackal Bar," Joel said. "This bar's all but run by the largest Mafia here...they've got connections to basically every Mafia in the world...it's one of the largest in the world."

"Well, let's go," Colin said.

* * *

It was around eight o'clock in London, and Duke had been working late. Monica Phillips was meeting him tomorrow for lunch. She was living in France now, a teacher at a magical college. She was recently getting over her ex-boyfriend, and she had apparently never married. Duke wondered how, but she seemed like the kind of girl who would never settle down.

Perhaps he could get her to settle down...Duke considered it doubtful; the last romantic relationship he'd had with a woman in his forty-five year old life was about fifteen years before, and his girlfriend had broken it up the night before he was going to propose–he'd had it all planned already, but his beautiful Heather had found another man.

It had been rather crushing for Duke, and he had to turn to psychiatric help. He could not receive any advice from his parents, as they had been the first kill of Tom Riddle, also known as Voldemort and a close friend of Duke's parents, growing up from their Hogwarts years. Tom moved to Australia after leaving Hogwarts, starting up a wand shop with Duke's father. The rest, as they saw, was history.

He apparated out of his office; he was one of the select few to be able to apparate in and out of the building. Normally, he would apparate outside of the building, but in this case, he was too tired to care.

His body disappeared from his office, and an absent-minded Duke had forgotten to take his briefcase. He couldn't care less.

* * *

"Dinnertime!" Vinny yelled, peeking his head into the trio's room. "Get something nice on."

He immediately left. "Sorta early," Max said. Joe shrugged, and with a little flicker of his brand new wand, a pair of khakis, a blue collar shirt, and a navy sweater appeared out of thin air.

"Fashionable," Nathan commented.

"Excuse me while I change," Joe said, magicking an invisibility shield around him as he changed clothes.

When he came out, all he needed was socks and dress shoes. He magicked a pair of navy socks and a pair of Dr. Marten's, putting them on.

"Hey, Joe, you think the Doc Marten people are gonna be mad that you basically stole a pair of their shoes?" Max asked.

"Max, I've been doing this for years. They haven't cared yet."

"I'm sure everyone does it."

* * *

The Jolly Jackal was a very fancy place, with people in tuxedos entering and exiting at will. It was located right in the heart of the Muggle section of New York City. Little did those Muggles know wizards had built a metropolis under the subway tunnels.

Joel stepped up to the door, knocking on it.

"Do you have a reservation?"

"No," Joel said.

"Then what's the password?"

"Just give me a little kiss," Joel replied.

The door opened, and a large, buff man stood in the doorframe. "Welcome to the Jolly Jackal," he said in his dull voice, "the best bar in town."

"Thank you," Joel said. "We'd like to see Mister Smith."

"Excuse me?" the man asked. "No one sees Mister Smith without an appointment."

"Mister Smith?" George whispered to Colin. "Odd name for a high-powered Mafia guy."

"It's all a bunch of marriage stuff," Colin said. "Mister Smith's dad got involved with this Mafia, and Mister Smith married the Godfather's daughter. The power went to him."

"Ah."

"He knows who we are," Joel told the man. The man nodded.

"And I think I know, too," replied the man. He grabbed Joel's neck, throwing him against the door.

"Jesus Christ," Colin said. The man picked Joel up by his neck and grabbed Colin as well. George pulled out his wand; but the man kicked him in the shin, George falling to the ground.

"Mister Smith has been waiting to see you," the man said. He put Joel and Colin on the ground and helped George up. "He has much to talk about."

* * *

The dining room in the Vinicci house was very long, made of cypress wood; and it was covered with wonderful food. There was shrimp gumbo, sausage jambalaya, boudin, sweet potatoes, and some other vegetables.

"Clarice, it looks delicious," Vinny said, taking a seat next to Sarah, his wife. Joe sat at the end of the table, far away from Vinny yet sandwiched between his friends. He looked at her, then turned away.

"Just like home," Joe said. "Gotta love boudin."

"What's boudin?" Nathan asked. "It's got a scary name."

"Stuffed sausage," Joe said. "Usually stuffed with rice, very good."

Max looked at the food on the table and smiled to himself. Even if he was British, the food did not look disgusting to him as it did to Nathan. It looked rather appealing.

_This looks like junk,_ Nathan thought to himself.

Joe stared at Sarah, who did not seem to notice him. Vinny stood up, ringing his wine glass with his spoon.

"Would anyone like to say grace?" he asked.

"Sure," Joe volunteered. Vinny sat back down.

"In the name of the Father..." Joe said grace; everyone saying "Amen" at the end of the prayer.

"Would any of the Brits like to try some excellent Louisiana cooking?" Vinny asked.

The mobster known as Benny spoke. "I don't know," he said, smiling. "One of the fat ones ain't lookin' too keen on it."

"Gimme some of the jambalaya," Max said.

"Alrighty," Clarice said.

"Is the Godfather coming?" Joe asked.

"Dad likes to keep to himself," Vinny said.

The woman next to Benny spoke to Nathan from across the table: "Are you going to eat anything?" she asked him. Max was receiving his plate, and immediately he dove in, his fork flying over the rice and sausage.

"Sure," Nathan said, sighing. "Give me some boudin, some sweet potatoes, and that soup junk."

"Will do," the woman said, bending over the table and grabbing a plate. She put some of each on the place. The soup junk Nathan had been referring to was gumbo.

"How 'bout you, Joe?" Clarice asked.

"I'll fix my own, thank you," Joe said. "Just trying to decide what I'll have first."

"Are you familiar with these foods?" Clarice asked.

"Of course. I grew up in Bayou Foster."

"Wonderful little town," Sarah said. Clarice nodded in agreement. By then Joe had a plate flying in the air, and he had gotten himself jambalaya, boudin, and some vegetables. He was also wondering if Sarah knew anything about Clarice and Vinny.

"Great food," Max said, having emptied his plate. "I'll get myself some more."

Nathan sat there, playing a staring game with his gumbo.

* * *

Mr. Smith was a very skinny man with two scantily dressed women at his side. He was dressed in a suit, a lot more than what his companions were wearing.

"Welcome, gentlemen." He shooed off the women. The Ministry's agents took no notice.

"Joel Coen and company, welcome to the Jolly Jackal. I think I know why you're here."

Joel nodded. Colin and George stood still. The large man was behind them.

"Frederick, please leave." The large man left the room. "So, are you looking for information from Mister Smith, Godfather of the largest family in the world? The family that is so large, it is headed by a non-Italian?"

"Yes," Joel said. "Your family–or well, your slightly adopted family–has had some trouble lately."

"Indeed we have," Mister Smith said. "But what's that got to do with it?"

"We're offering to clear up your family, in exchange for information on the whereabouts of Nathan Talon, Max Brown, and Joe Young."

"And you'll clean our records?"

"Not totally; too a fair extent."

"I'm going to have to refuse your offer, my colleagues. It's not anything personal, just I have a code of ethics. Not many Godfathers have them, but I do. It's said, but it's also true. Our men got themselves into jail. We had escape plans for them when they were caught, but the men did not practice these plans. The appropriate punishment must be taken. I'm sorry, but you're free to go."

Joel, Colin, and George turned to the door.

"Hold on," Mister Smith said. "On a little side note: I've heard the fugitives went south. They're still in America, and they're more in the southeastern part of it. From there, I dunno. My guess would be Miami."

"Is that the truth?" Colin asked.

"Yes," Mister Smith said, being totally honest. "It is the truth."

"Thank you," George said.

"Anytime, Mister Weasley. Good night."

* * *

Max was on his third helping. "God, this boudin is great."

"It is, isn't it?" Benny asked.

"Yes, I'm gonna get some more."

"Let me take the plate for you," Vinny said.

"Alright," Max said. Vinny took it.

"How much do you want?"

"Just one more piece," Max said. Vinny picked one up and set it on his plate.

"There ya go," he said. Max bit into it, relishing the taste. Then his head fell into his empty plate.

_Author's Note: Wow, if I get ANY reviews or ANY hits, I will so get down on my knees and praise the Lord. I'm sorry for the EXTREMELY long wait, but I had writer's block and needed to stop in order to get the story straight. I think I do have it straight now, and the story may get a bit darker. It needed to grow up. I now have an idea of the overall plot, a very clear one. I'm very glad I'm back to writing this; I'm not turning it into the _Star Trek: Voyager_ of Rex's fics: in other words, the fic with an excellent idea that turned into junk. No sir. It is my mission to write a good fic, with well-written characters and a good plot._

_Again, so sorry this took forever; but the final result is great, I believe. Drop me a line at [quidditch_seeker@angelfire.com][1] and do not forget to review! Thank you so much for reading!_

   [1]: mailto:quidditch_seeker@angelfire.com



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